I am often asked how I came to write a series of police procedurals—now 19 volumes strong with the publication this week of THE CATCH—all placed in a setting as supposedly bucolic as Vermont. The answer partially lies, as it often does with we quirky, baggage-laden humans, in my past.
I was brought up on the road by a traveling pair of parents, the father of which was a man who once preached to his six kids, “Never quit. Always get fired.” I have no idea if this was reverse psychology (I have yet to be fired from a job, perhaps because I am arguably permanently unemployed, being a writer.) But whatever it was, it meant we journeyed a great deal. Good for learning about people and places; not so great for settling down roots and joining a community.
Thus it was that when I quit my last full time job in 1980 and moved to Vermont, I did so in part to get off the road. Nice try. For the next several years, in order to make ends meet and still call myself a writer, I fell back on my university degree and became a itinerant historian, writing books about families, businesses, and whoever would hire me. Interesting, good training, and it paid the rent. More importantly, it bought me time to write fiction during the off-hours, specifically the first Joe Gunther book, OPEN SEASON.
Curiously, it also allowed me to settle into my home village of Newfane, Vermont, and slowly begin to weave myself into its fabric. That was awkward at first. I joined the local volunteer fire department, and promptly left for many months on a history assignment. But gradually, the segue began to take hold. Over time, histories yielded to mysteries as OPEN SEASON was published in 1988 (and others followed, one per year,) and I began to immerse myself increasingly into the very world I was describing in my novels. In a confusion of life and art stumbling to imitate each other, I became, over time, the captain of my EMS rescue squad, a firefighter, a death investigator for the state's medical examiner, and a part-time cop, thereby trespassing regularly on the territory than Joe Gunther calls his own in the series.
So, I guess—even from the start—I wasn't overly focused on the surface characteristics of Vermont as they're seen, say, in Montana or Texas—all cows and maple sugar and downhill skiing. Rather, I wanted to examine the unheralded side of that picture: the hardships and challenges that don't make the chamber of commerce brochures. I also wanted to make heroes of "regular" people—the Joe Gunthers of the world who eat Velveeta, aren't super athletes or lovers, and make mistakes that will cause people heartache. These are the folks I was increasingly calling my friends and colleagues as I engaged in my moonlighting—who despite their limitations and occasional screw-ups, regularly pull it off in the long run. They bring in the criminals, solve the mysteries, and bring peace to the ailing and the desperate. Like Joe in my books, they muddle through, and by having integrity where they may be lacking in resources or even brains, sometimes, they bring honor and respect to their labors.
Also, to be honest, it makes me feel good to be among such company while at the same time writing about it. I love to write—I love the artistry of laying down a well turned phrase, and the joy of creating a compelling tale. But, having grown up on the road, I also want to finally be of use to my fellow human being, instead of just being the guy who's simply passing through.
For the moment, however, it is all about publicity. As you read this, I am readying to take a plane to Arizona and Texas for a few days—courtesy of St. Martin's—before settling into a 12-week publicity tour of New England. I'll be meeting a lot of readers, new and old, and trying to spread the word of Joe and his world. If you want to keep track of me, get hold of and check out my "Appearances." Maybe we'll get to meet. I'd love to know who's reading all this.
Till tomorrow!